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Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 14 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

You’re minding your own business, out for a walk in the lovely Spring weather. You run into a magical bunny. As you’re scratching behind his ears, he says to you… In gratitude for the lovely ear scratching, I’m granting you three wishes for yourself, and an additional wish that must benefit someone other than yourself.

My favorite TV show growing up was definitely “I Dream of Jeannie”. I fantasized often about finding a genie bottle on the beach and being granted 3 wishes. The wishes themselves have changed over the years though. I will admit, in my fantasies, my genie never looked like this…

It was more this…

or even this…

Maybe a sexy cartoon Aladdin come to life to rescue me. I’m not complaining (I mean I am a little), a wish is a wish is a wish, I suppose the vehicle of a wishes deliverance matters not. Just to be clear, wishing that my wish-giver was hot and half-naked is not my 1st wish. I’m just thinking out loud.

(3 hours later)

Who knew thinking of 4 wishes could be so difficult. I don’t want to squander them. When wishing for things, I tend to be short-sighted. I’m probably way overthinking it. Eggs sound really good right now. Maybe I’ll go eat breakfast and mull it over. I make better decisions on a full stomach. I’d hate to wish for a house made of chocolate because I’m starving and it’s shark week (that time of the month). These are the kind of rash decisions I need to avoid. So eggs. More coffee. Then wishes.

(2 days later)

So, those were some really good eggs. And I got distracted by life. And I still don’t know what my wishes should be. When I got my topic, I thought it would be so easy peasy. Yeah…not so much. Thinking of one wish leads me to another wish which lead to an even better wish which reminds me of my initial wish. It’s enough to make a girl dizzy and confused. I really need to wash my sheets. BRB.

(5 days later)

So…this post and these wishes may never get made. I’m no closer today than I was a week ago to narrowing down these wishes (hashtag firstworldproblems – amirite?) You know what helps me think? Chick-Fil-A! I know what you’re thinking, just another diversion, but no really, nothing beats Chick-Fil-A when I need to get the brain juices flowing.

(6 hours later)

Also, Chick-Fil-A makes me full which makes me long for a nap which totally happened. Then I started watching Scandal, and OHMYHUCK… I won’t elaborate in case no one reading this actually watches Scandal, and I don’t want to be accused of rambling… Oh wait…too late. Sigh.

All is not completely lost, I do have good news. While ordering at Chick-Fil-A, I did come up with one wish! I know!!!! So exciting, that food is magical, I’m telling you. Why is it though that I usually only crave it on Sunday and it’s CLOSED?!?!?!?! Oops sorry, veering off track again. It happens. I’m kinda hungry again, but I’m going to finish out this wish first, I promise. I won’t leave you hanging.

So, I’m in the forever long line that is the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru seriously considering blowing my first wish on instant gratification, but I reign myself in just in time. I finally get up to the window and holy hotness batman, the cashier/order guy is hot. Not little boy hot and by little boy I mean high school age and not that I notice hot high school boys or ever drive slowly by high schools as football players are running around topless, but I mean really, boys did not look like that when I was 18. It hardly seems fair. ANYWAY, no this guy is like old. And by old, I mean late 20’s, early 30’s? My eyes are eye level with the best looking backside I have ever seen. I mean…is it hot in here? I need a fan. I can’t stop staring. Then I look up and he’s staring at me. I’m thinking, “oh shit did he notice I was totally checking out his ass?” Why is he staring? Why am I smiling like this? I look deranged. My lips have disappeared. Did I brush my teeth today? Maybe he’s noticed the coffee stain on my shirt? Or the fact that I left the house without a bra on and quite frankly THAT should NEVER happen. My reasoning was that I wasn’t getting out of the car, but it’s very awkward to have to pick up your boobs so as not to accidentally buckle them into the lap belt portion of your seat belt. You think I’m joking… And now you have a weird visual…sorry, go back to hot butt not in high school Chick-Fil-A guy. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Visual gone? Whew. Then I realize he’s asking me if I want any sauce. Is it wrong that I thought of this movie line in “Wayne’s World?”

Yeah, I know…all kinds of wrong. Sorry not sorry. If anyone could ruin a perfectly good topic like being on the receiving end of 4 anything you want wishes…it’s me. Now that I’ve taken you places you never ever wanted to go and from which you may never recover, let’s FINALLY get to my first wish.

WISH ONE

I wish for the boobs of my youth. Vain? Yes. Shallow? Yes. Necessary? Absolutely. I want perky. I want to be able to leave my house without a bra occasionally and not horrify a nation. I don’t want surgery or drainage bags or future ruptures or dots and lines drawn all over my chest by a plastic surgeon that does NOT look like McSteamy from Grey’s Anatomy and has cold fish-like hands. I want beautiful boobs. I want boobs I don’t have to scoop up to fit inside my bra cup. I want boobs that don’t fall into my armpit when I lie down. I want boobs that don’t peak out from the bottom of my t-shirt…that hangs down to my knees. Forget about the pencil test, I could hold a set of 120 colored pencils under each breast. Now that you’ll never be able to look me in the eye again…let’s move on. I think I’ve exhausted this topic.

WISH TWO

Coming up with one wish was exhausting and terrifying. I’m depleted. Can my 2nd wish be unlimited wishes? I mean, the only rule was that at least one of my wishes be for someone else. Is there a wishing rule book? I need the facts! I can’t work under these conditions. I have to understand the RULES. I’m assuming I can’t wish for unlimited wishes because that feels like cheating, then again it’s my blog, my post and maybe the rule is that you can make your own rules? This level of thinking this early in the morning hurts my brain. Honestly, I bet the wishing genie bunny wants to punch me in the face right now. I bet he’s sorry he stopped for me.

The truth is I feel like I’ve got everything I could ever possibly want. I’ve got an amazing husband, the world’s greatest children. I’ve been blessed with a family that supports and loves me. I’ve been blessed with 4 healthy and beautiful children. While my life is never perfect and comes with it’s fair share of challenges, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I wouldn’t wish for it to be any different. I love my life. I love my family. It’s perfectly imperfectly tailor made just for me, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Not one thing. Well…

I still want the boobs though. I’m not giving up that wish.

WISH FOR ANOTHER

This one is easy. I wish that my son passes the STAAR test the FIRST time. We pulled him out of a brick and mortar school in January, which is another blog post entirely that I’ll get to eventually. We decided to homeschool him, but I stuck with public online schooling because I just didn’t know enough about homeschooling to feel I could completely tackle it on my own. It’s been an amazing and positive experience thus far and I have no regrets. The only downside is that he still has to pass the STAAR test to continue on to 6th grade. He’s come a long way in just a few short months, but he still has some catching up to do. I pray and hope that what we’ve been able to accomplish in these last 2 months has been enough to pass him. We are proud of him no matter what, because I know how hard he’s been working, but if he passes the 1st time, the boost to his confidence…well it just can’t be measured. I want that so badly for him. So that is my 4th and final wish for another. Please Mr. Genie Bunny grant me this wish. You can ignore everything else I’ve rambled on about here today, and just make sure my son passes that STAAR test the FIRST time.

Thank you for indulging in my nonsense for what might have felt like an eternity. Hopefully you made it to the end! I’ll be sure and let you know how my most important final wish turns out for us (fingers crossed) ❤

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.

As you may or may not know, I’ve had a long-standing love affair with Adam Levine. If our relationship were a Facebook status it would read “it’s complicated.” We’ve certainly weathered our fair share of storms over the years. We had some really good times, Adam and I.

Our Christmas photo from a few years back

Ours was truly a star-crossed love, timing was never really on our side. Fate can be a cruel mistress. I’m still processing our separation these past few years, but it all inevitably comes surging back as “The Voice” airs on television each season. I haven’t really felt ready to face the pain of the distance forced between us by circumstances beyond our control.

Our romantic beach hideaway vacation

I was reminiscing about my twitter campaign for Adam love a few years ago, back when I had twitter followers and was quite active on twitter. He can’t follow me on twitter for obvious reasons, you know the whole secret part of our epic love story, but I thought what better way to throw the paparazzi off the scent than to pretend I was desperate for Adam to follow me on twitter, so I launched the “follow me Adam” campaign. I had the majority of my followers tweeting Adam begging politely requesting that Adam should definitely follow me on Twitter. He’d pick random normal every day people to follow from time to time and while there was nothing ordinary or every day about our love, he could have pretended and followed me back. He’s overly cautious my Adam, and didn’t want to throw a giant spotlight on our romance, so alas I have to report that he never did follow me on twitter (sad emoji).

Our winter wonderland kind of love

Sometimes I think perhaps I should mail in my singing demo to “The Voice,” just to get on the show so I can see him again. Not that I can sing. At all. But I mean this is my fantasy so obviously I would get on the show. I’d be wearing some cute vintage 80’s outfit I picked up at a flea marketoutside of town. I’d even krimp my hair (is that back yet?) I’d be some hybrid Cyndi Lauper/Madonna type performer. Obviously, he’d recognize me instantly. The shock of seeing me again turning his hair blonde…(not a good look). I’d get a four chair turn where I’d pretend to be giddy about Blake and those dimples, but really I’d only have eyes for Adam. And he wouldn’t be able to look away (obviously). We’d have a moment. A lingering full body hug. He’d whisper secret things in my ear. I can’t tell you! It’s a secret. I’d feel all warm, fuzzy and validated. It would be just like old times.

Thanks for indulging me on this walk down memory lane. I’ll leave you with these pics of our children, or what our children would have looked like rather had we had them together. Assuming of course we didn’t have a love child or two. Or did we? Stay vigilant, you never know…

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 12 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

What nationalities are you comprised of and how do they reflect on the person you are?

“Our heritage and ideals, our code and standards – the things we live by and teach our children – are preserved or diminished by how freely we exchange ideas and feelings.” Walt Disney

I’ve been thinking that if I’d gotten this question a year ago, or even 6 months ago, I would have approached it or thought about it quite differently than I do so today. To be honest, I’ve never really given much thought to my heritage or nationality.

I’m an American.

I’m white.

I’m parts Native American (Osage and Cherokee), Scottish and maybe Irish (probably wishful thinking, but with my name being Shannon and all…)

I’m a woman.

I’m a mother.

I’m a wife.

I’m a daughter, sister, aunt and cousin, etc…

Some of those things define me more than others.

I’ve probably felt as if I belonged more to America than a particular ethnic group. What does being an American mean? These days I wonder.

As a general rule, I avoid politics. I’m too emotional, passionate, defensive, strong-willed and opinionated to enter into such discussions lightly. I tend to take differing opinions personally, as if my very personhood is being attacked or threatened. I know my limitations. I’d like to keep my friends, so I keep quiet.

I can tell you what being an American means to me. I think that how I personally define what it means to be an American defines the kind of person I am or aspire to be.

“We, the People, recognize that we have responsibilities as well as rights; that our destinies are bound together; that a freedom which only asks what’s in it for me, a freedom without a commitment to others, a freedom without love or charity or duty or patriotism, is unworthy of our founding ideals, and those who died in their defense.” Barack Obama

I feel we’ve entered into an era of extreme Nationalism, where the idea of patriotism is being confused or misconstrued, twisted into something self-serving, hateful and largely based on fear and bias.

“Patriotism is when love of your own people comes first; nationalism, when hate for people other than your own comes first.” Charles de Gaulle

I love my country. I love her beautiful diversity, a rich tapestry of different cultural and ethnic identities, religions and faiths. A rainbow of colors and ideas, explosive and expressive, reflective and representative of the freedoms that brave men and women have fought, bled and died in pursuit of since the birth of this great nation. I’m not threatened by that which is different, I embrace it, it inspires and motivates me. I don’t believe in a world that divides people into an US versus THEM. I don’t worry that God is on my side but whether or not I am on HIS side. I’m pretty sure Jesus asked for a longer table, not a higher wall. Ideologies built on hate and fear aren’t destroyed by the policies, philosophies or ideas based upon those same emotions. Ideologies constructed out of those negative and destructive emotions are destroyed brick by brick only by love, by acceptance, by inclusion, by forgiveness and by understanding.

“True patriotism hates injustice in its own land more than anywhere else.” Clarence Darrow

America, for all her imperfections and faults, IS a great nation. Patriotism should not be confused with jingoism, which by definition refers to a country’s advocacy for the use of threats or actual force in efforts to safeguard what it perceives as its national interests. I rebel against the idea that there is “only enough” for SOME people. America embodies the hope that anything is possible for anyone willing and able to dream. Walt Disney said, “If you can dream it, you can do it.” The American dream is an iconic part of our identity. It is our promise. Our hope. Our past, present and future. Being American means we embrace and accept our imperfections as a nation, as a fallible and fragile people, but we work to overcome our faults, right our wrongs.

Being American defines me. Being American means I strive to learn that which I don’t understand. It means I embrace inclusivity and acceptance from people or ideas that might be different. I see the value in the uniqueness of expression. My growth, spiritually, mentally and emotionally is sparked by sharing ideas and experiences with cultures both ethnically and culturally diverse. My belief in God is strengthened by these differences, not weakened. America embodies hope. Being an American means I’m an extension of that hope which should be reflected in the love and respect I hold for those that may not look like me or think like me. I believe in the free exchange of ideas, beliefs and experiences because it contributes to the vitality of our great nation and enriches humanity as a whole. As corny as it sounds, I do believe good trumps evil and that love conquers all.

“The love of one’s country is a splendid thing. But why should love stop at the border?” Pablo Casals

I don’t know if I answered the question. I’m not opting for a soapbox or a sound bite, these are the feelings I truly believe and embrace when I ask myself the question, “What does it mean to be an American?” I might have completely gone off script but these thoughts have been weighing on my heart recently and this topic and/or question felt like a path I could take to unburden myself, share my thoughts and my fears in the little environment I’ve created to experience the freedom of my emotions, such as they are.

I feel that being an American is a privilege, and I don’t take the rights and freedoms I enjoy for granted. Despite the uncertain and turbulent times enveloping our nation, I feel optimistic and hopeful about our future. I’m proud to be an American. It is our differences, our unique voices and perspectives woven together that make up the rich tapestry of our Nation. We don’t always get it right, but we never give up. ❤

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

All during the month of February, I’ve focused on the word “love.” It is the month of Valentine’s Day after all. I’ve posted quotes on Facebook and Instagram all about showing the love. I’ve focused my efforts on giving love, whether in service to others or learning to love myself a little better. I’ve really tried to see the face of God in every person I’ve met or crossed paths with in one way or another. I’ve even tried to love Donald Trump. Ok… So, I’m totally lying about that one. Sorry. I’m only human. I’ve tried to smile more, engage strangers, look for ways to offer kindness and service, live out my faith in my day to day life.

Well…I was doing really good till the last two days of February. On February 27th, it all went to hell. Where you will probably find me… with my grocery cart of anger and bitterness. There are two places where I’ve found myself to be at my most vulnerable to react negatively – the grocery store and behind the wheel of my car. If I’m going to present the worst version of myself, it usually happens in one of those scenarios. Patience, love, kindness and sanity – all completely thrown out the window when I either enter the swish swish doors of my local grocer or when I slip behind the wheel of my car. I don’t know what happens to me. It’s almost an out of body experience, I see myself behaving badly but appear powerless to stop it.

It was a Monday, which should have been my first clue not to leave the house, but did I listen? Nope. I dropped my husband off at the train station, and decided to stop by the store on the way home to just grab a few things, less than 5, it would take no time at all. I’d zip in, then zip out. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Right? Wrong. First, I talked myself into popping into the easiest grocery store from a navigation/proximity perspective. After all, I only needed like maybe 5 things, 6 tops. This is my least favorite location of this particular chain. It smells funny. I dislike the layout and parking is always bad. I knew better than to stop here. I should have gone just a teensy bit out of my way and perhaps none of this would have happened and I could have closed the month of February feeling as if I’d at least adequately mimicked a good person, full of love, generosity of spirit and a heart bursting with kindness and compassion.

Might seem a tad dramatic, but you understand my point. So, I grab my few items and walk immediately to the “speedy checkout” line. There are two people ahead of me. The lady checking out is an employee buying some gummy bears and the girl in front of me, has maybe 22 items (even though the sign says 20 or less…but that’s okay, I’m choosing to let it go, if only I’d kept up that mantra). As it turns out, the employee is buying 2 things of candy, apparently paying for them separately. She is talking animatedly with the cashier, like they have all the time in the world. I can feel the tiny pinpricks of annoyance. I force myself to smile (which was probably more of a grimace really). Her second transaction gets messed up. Sigh. More laughing and talking. I’m thinking she eats that package of gummy bears faster than she paid for them. My mood is deteriorating at lightning speed. I can feel myself deconstructing, my good intentions paving that road to hell. A road that will be paved before she finishes paying for these damn gummy bears. At this point, my mask of tolerance has slipped and probably something like this has been left in its place…

Naturally, she chooses this moment to turn around and look behind her (yeah color me speechless, you aren’t the only one in this line!) She grabs another candy bar (which I ungraciously think she doesn’t really need…) and includes it with the gummy purchase. Finally! She is done. She turns around and hands the candy bar to the girl in front of me (who has been on her cell phone the whole time probably tweeting complaints about the amount of time this lady is taking btw) and thanks her for being patient, then shoots me a dirty look. I feel a tiny bit of remorse for my impatience. Ok, not really. The slight just makes me more agitated and annoyed.

The girl ahead of me is super speedy (God bless her). Then it’s finally my turn. Hours later. I unload all my items, grab my purse and step toward the cashier when he does the thing that completely sends me over the edge. He actually beckons to the guy behind me and says, “hey since you only have one thing, I’ll check you out real quick.”

OH NO HE DIDN’T.

THIS IS SO NOT HAPPENING.

I mean, yes, he only had one thing but I was next in line and I had been waiting longer. He just got there! Sure, there have been times, when I’m not in a hurry, that I’ve let people with fewer items step ahead of me, but that’s been MY choice. I can’t even find words. I’m just standing there with my mouth hanging open. Incredulous. When my brain catches up to the scene playing out in front of me, my face turns from shocked bewilderment to something that I’m pretty sure looks like this –

He ignores my death stare and sharp breaths that would rival Darth Vader’s. I know my face is bright red, I can actually feel the rage. I’m so pissed off. The only thing that saved him and me was the fact I was too angry to even speak. I just stared him down. I didn’t even acknowledge the guy buying his yellow stupid ball; although, in hindsight, why would he accept! I would have at least made sure it was okay with the person waiting in front of me that I was cutting off! I can feel myself getting mad all over again, just reliving it here. This is why I would never carry a gun. I know my limitations. Yes, I was that angry. I was in a hurry to get home. It had been a long day, and I only needed 6 THINGS! SIX! I jerked my items off the turnstile and threw them in my cart, finding every possible passive aggressive form of anger I could use against this seemingly unaffected cashier. To his credit, my anger and eye shooting daggers didn’t seem to phase him in the least. When nonverbal communication doesn’t work to affectively notify the object of my ire that I’m angry, I result to muttering under my breath. Which I began to do now. I think he just thought I was crazy. Yeah yeah…don’t say it. I know.

The next morning, against my better judgment, I go to the same store, different location. I needed binders and school supplies and it was too early for Staples and Target was too far. There were no checkout lines open, so I had to use the self-checkout option. Not a big deal. I’m pro. As I scan each item and drop into a bag, I get an error message.

“Unexpected item in the bagging area.”

This happened after each item.

EACH.

ITEM.

I had 6 binders, tab dividers, coffee, orange juice and apple juice, a journal and a spiral.

By the 3rd item, I could feel it happening again. I get to the 4th binder and it won’t ring up. It says the barcode is invalid. At this point, the cashier is practically standing on top of me because she keeps having to enter her code after I scan each item. She attempts to scan it, even though she just watched me do it, and same error message. She attempts to manually type in the code. THREE TIMES. Same error message.

Then.

She walks away. WITH MY BINDER. Saying nothing.

I’m all like…um excuse me? I need that?

She responds, “the code is wrong.”

Ummm. Yeah. I got that part. But I say, “well, I have another one, the same size…?”

She responds, “different brand.”

Are you freaking kidding me? They are like 50 cents. Ok so there are literally 5 employees just standing around talking, maybe she was going to ask one of them to go pick up another binder for me?

Nope.

She walked over (with my binder under her arm) and helped another customer. Shaking my head, I rang up the rest of my purchases. Getting an error message each time about the unexpected bagging. At this point, my jaw is clenched, my hands fisted. It’s taking everything I have not to erupt. She clears my errors from her main terminal, not walking back towards me. So she’s not completely clueless. After I ring everything up, but the binder in question, I look over at her again.

She’s still holding my binder.

I say, “Umm… I didn’t put that into my cart for looks, I kinda need it? Can you send someone to get another one, or can I leave my stuff here?”

Her response.

“It won’t scan.”

OMG

I’m done. I’m need to get out of here. Screw the binder. I will make one out of lasagna noodles and string!

The month wasn’t a complete bust. As a family, we spent one early Sunday morning in service to the homeless population in our downtown area with an organization that faithfully serves this marginalized portion of our society, feeding them physically, spiritually and emotionally. It’s one of our favorite missions, and a time to truly live outside yourself and your own unique set of circumstances and learn the value of loving and helping others and the true definition of grace. It’s a reminder to those who serve how much you have to be thankful for in your life. A humbling experience that reminds each of us how precarious life can be and by the grace of God how much we are loved.

In reflecting on my behavior in those two incidents, I am reminded of the hours spent in service to others that cold Sunday morning. I’m brought low by my negativity, my poor behavior, my impatience with others, my anger and my selfishness. I spent that last day of February in quiet reflection and prayer. Thankful, that God’s grace has been bestowed upon me. Reminded that although I will always be perfectly imperfect, made in His image, I’ve been afforded His grace, love and forgiveness, unconditionally and forever and that it is always within my power to extend that same love, forgiveness and grace to others, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. It’s probably a lesson I will have to learn anew each day as I live out my faith as a flawed and fragile human being.

I woke up on this new day, March 1st, with the promise of spring in the air, feeling renewed and refreshed. During this season of Lent, I wanted to give up something meaningful, something possibly life-changing. Not chocolate or social media or carbs. I wanted to do something really hard, something that would require daily (heck even hourly) purposeful intention.

I’m giving up…

IMPATIENCE

True story. I might have to take up drinking.

If it wasn’t hard, it wouldn’t be a sacrifice and I really need to work on this. It’s probably my worst vice and leads to many others. Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.

“UNIVERSAL LESSON: YOU SEE THE WORLD THAT YOU HAVE MADE, BUT YOU DO NOT SEE YOURSELF AS THE IMAGE-MAKER.”

Gabrielle Bernstein, “The Universe Has Your Back”

Personal development has never been something I pursued intentionally. One of the biggest lessons I’ve had to acknowledge during my health and fitness journey is that in addition to weighing almost 300 lbs, I was toting around at least that much weight in emotional baggage. It was literally weighing me down, drowning me in depression and despair. Unwilling and unable to even leave my house most days, because I was so ashamed and embarrassed at how much I’d let myself go. I kept trying to claw and dig my way to the surface, only to be dragged back down again by the hands of my perception and self-loathing. It was a cycle I didn’t know how to break. I didn’t weigh 300 pounds just because I loved food, and I knew that part of my health journey was going to include delving deep into my heart and rooting out the negative and self-destructive emotions that brought me to the edge of the precipice I found myself on the eve before I decided to have Gastric-Sleeve surgery. I didn’t want to ever end up back in that place, literally hanging over a dark abyss of self-hatred and fear. I knew losing the weight was only half the battle, delving into my personal “why” was the key. Why had I allowed this to happen to my body? Why did I do this to myself? I was hiding behind the extra weight. Hiding behind the poor choices. I needed to figure out why. I couldn’t let this happen to me again.

Gabrielle Bernstein says something over and over in her book (The Universe Has Your Back) that really stuck with me, “Energy flows where your attention goes.” Our perceptions create our reality or projection. Gabrielle compares it to a movie reel. What we perceive is what we project on the movie screens of our life. If you find yourself struggling, whether it’s with your weight, your marriage, your relationships, your life…ask yourself, what movie have I been projecting? I began to really think about what fear motivated me in a negative way to make the poor decisions that led me to this crossroads in my life. I knew I had choices. I could keep doing what I’d been doing and continue to live in the shadows, afraid to step out. Or, I could take a different path. I could step out of my 300 pound shadow. I could stop being a spectator in my very own existence and make the decision to actually live! I could make the decision to be fully present, living my best life, not just watching from the sidelines.

Somewhere along the line between childhood and adulthood, I decided that love was conditional. I developed along the way this idea that I had to walk the tightrope of perfection in certain relationships in order to be loved and feel love. If I missed a step, if I failed to say the right thing or do the right thing, that love was withheld from me. It was taken away. Whether in my mind or in reality, it was my perception and it colored my attitudes and emotions. Food became a comfort, a coping mechanism. Metaphorically, I could hide my shame and low sense of self-worth behind my weight. If no one could see me, they couldn’t hurt me. Obviously, I see the fallacy in my thinking, but when you are trapped in a particular mindset, it’s extremely difficult to see your way around it. The self-destructive behaviors make a weird sort of sense. You begin to find comfort in the things that ultimately will bring you down.

It’s difficult to explain in words, and I’m probably botching it up, but it’s really painful to open yourself up in this way and bare your soul. I carry these feelings in the deepest parts of myself. I’m always waiting for friends and family to realize how screwed up I really am and turn away from me, realize I’m not worth loving and walk away. This is the movie, I play in my head. This is my projection colored by my perceptions. I don’t want to live this way. I don’t want to gain the weight back. I still have weight to lose, work to do and part of that work is being 100% honest and transparent. I don’t want to always feel as if I have to hide behind humor and self-deprecation. I want to shine a spotlight on the deepest and darkest parts of me, so I can change my “movie”, my perceptions and project a different outcome.

Sharing my thoughts and feelings in such a public forum allows me to feel empowered. I want to reshape these negative thoughts and structure my life in a more positive and productive way. As it turns out, losing 100 pounds was the easy part. Changing my perceptions is where the hard work really begins. If I want something I’ve never had, I have to do things I’ve never done. I find inspiration in the support of others. A big part of me expects failure. It would be easy to listen to that voice. That voice tends to get louder when I shut myself off from loving and being loved by others. The stories I sometimes allow myself to believe about myself block me from feeling supported and happy.

It is difficult sometimes for me to reconcile the fact that I’ve come so far in my health and fitness journey. I’ve lost over 100 pounds! I don’t celebrate this amazing achievement often enough. I usually say something along the lines of “yeah, I’ve lost 100 pounds, but I still have another 50 or so to go.” My emotional health is an integral part of my overall health and fitness. I can’t ignore it. To ignore it leads me right back to where I started and I don’t want to ever visit or live there again. I need to acknowledge and congratulate myself on the hard work that has gotten me this far. That sense of accomplishment needs to be the light I shine on the projection I want to play in my daily life. I don’t want to stay stuck in the negative rut of that old reality. I want to break down those walls, squash those feelings and crush that mindset. I have to be purposeful about connecting to the positive images of my success and accomplishments rather than focusing on the negative and destructive. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither will I be. I am perfectly imperfect, a child of God, and learning to love myself, forgive myself is essential to my growth and progress to being the person I was meant to be.

Writing the positive story of my life makes for a happier, more joyful me which radiates a power and light that forbids me from hiding in the shadows of my old self, hiding behind those old fears and spiraling down the staircase of destruction. Being present in my life, being an active participant is my power and from that power I derive my motivation and my inspiration to continue down this new, unchartered path. Seeking the approval of others is an integral part of who I am, connecting to those feelings, recognizing and acknowledging those feelings without letting the outcomes control me is key.

I’m worthy of being loved

The above statement, a mantra I repeat to myself daily, sometimes multiple times per day. I am flawed. I am imperfect. I make mistakes. None of those things discounts me as a person worthy of loving herself and accepting love from others. In losing 100 pounds, this is what I’ve discovered. I choose to look back and see my 300 pound self cheering me on, wanting me to succeed instead of trying to trip me up or praying I fail. I understand that my intentions, my perceptions color my reality. By being the change I want to see in myself and the world around me, I turn outward judgment into self-reflection and action against the only thing I can ever truly control, myself.

If you are feeling stuck, unloved or in a place where you harshly judge not only yourself but those around you, I hope you find comfort and solace in what I’ve shared here today. I hope you take the time to stop and think about the movie you’ve created of your life and the part you want to play in it, realizing the power to change the direction and the outcome does truly lie within you. Empowering yourself is the greatest gift you can give yourself and others. Forgive yourself. Love yourself. So that you may more freely forgive and love others. Choosing to be intentional, empowering yourself and those around you, projecting the life you want and desire is a daily practice. I find myself having to redirect my negative thoughts and actions over and over again throughout the course of a day. Some days are better than others. Don’t let fear be the guiding principle of your internal dialogue. The point is to be intentional and purposeful in the changes you want to see and that will direct your thoughts and actions in a positive direction. Taking responsibility for the lives we’ve created can be scary. It’s much easier to blame those around us, or our circumstances. Believe me, I know. By acknowledging that my perceptions of self-worth, my negative thoughts and feelings and my destructive habits and choices were shaping the reality of my existence, my world, I was able to choose a different path, including the experiences in healing my heart, body and soul that resulted in the loss of 100 pounds and the journey to find the me God intended when he created me in His image.

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 14 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

I’ve been thinking about my Great-Grandmother quite a bit lately. She passed away over 20 years ago. I know her in the way a child knows a grandparent. I wish I had known her as an adult. I remember sitting on her front porch, shelling pecans or snapping beans, listening to her talk, telling stories. I’d love another chance to do that again, even just for 24 hours.

I don’t know much about my ancestry, but even if I did, I can’t imagine wanting to spend time with anyone else. Grandma Dowell left a huge impression on my young mind and heart. Every morning, I’d wake up on our visits to find her reading her bible. I can thank her for my love of bacon, the kind fried up in a skillet, steeped in grease and love. Yum! I can only really remember her being on the porch or in the kitchen. She was always working, never stopping, those bent and gnarled arthritic hands constantly in action. I loved going through her purses, she also kept gum or mints stashed in them. She had a little apartment attached to her house, my sister and I would spend hours playing in there. I sat, entranced, in front of her television, watching MTV. You know, back when MTV played music videos. Videos like Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation” or “Every Breath You Take” by The Police. Oh! Another good one, “Hungry Like The Wolf” by Duran Duran. I know I’m totally dating myself. Remember “Sledgehammer” by Peter Gabriel? “When The Doves Cry” by Prince makes me all nostalgic. I would slip into a music video coma when “Take On Me” by a-ha would come on. I’d be remiss if I didn’t also mention “Like A Prayer” by Madonna or “Thriller” by Michael Jackson, which was also my first album by the way. Ah, the memories. Good times.

She loved me. I don’t remember her being overly affectionate, verbally or otherwise, but I never doubted that she loved me. She cooked all my favorite foods. She spent time with me. She listened to me. She spoke to me as if I were an equal, as if my thoughts and feelings mattered, making me feel grown up and treasured. She had such patience for my litany of questions, cautioning me once that “curiosity killed the cat.” I’d laugh and say but “satisfaction brought it back.” I miss her. I’ve been thinking about her so much lately, even before I got this prompt. I’m not sure why.

I wish my kids could have known her. I wonder what she would think of me now. All grown up. Would she be proud? She kept a box of letters and pictures. She told me she was keeping them for me because she knew I would be a writer someday, and I’d want them. I don’t know what happened to that box. I wish I had it. She believed in me before I even understand what to believe about myself. I feel like I’ve let her down. I let life get in the way. I let my doubts and insecurities hold me back. Would she lecture me? Admonish me? What words of wisdom would she have for me? There is so much I want to tell her. I need her advice, her wise counsel. She’d probably tell me to get over myself. She wasn’t shy about giving her opinions. I loved that about her.

I remember her house dresses. Someone should bring those back. I’m a big fan of pajamas that are socially acceptable in public. I also remember the first time she took her teeth out in front of me. That was horrifying. I didn’t know anything about dentures! I wasn’t allowed to put my elbows on the table, but she could place her teeth on it! That didn’t seem fair. She just laughed and laughed. Her toothless smile wide as she patted me on the head.

I remember sitting crouched in the hallway during a tornado warning. It was so scary, a tornado literally touched down behind and in front of her house, just missing us. At least that’s how I remember it. During the whole ordeal, grandma was in the kitchen making popcorn. The old-fashioned way, on the stove-top, completely unaffected by the chaos upending everything outside her four walls. I remember waking up to finding a huge snake in her kitchen. I don’t remember how she got the snake out or what happened to the snake, but I remember how calm she was in the midst of my hysteria and panic. That’s the best way to describe her, she was a rock, a stable force in my childhood.

I would ask her to cram all of our shared memories into 24 hours so I could record them and keep them forever. I’d want to hear more about her life and her marriage. She was born around 1894, when I think about all the things she witnessed, the history she lived, things I’ve only read about, I’m filled with wonder and curiosity for what life must have really been like for her. For my birthday every year, she’d send me $1 and a pair of pantyhose. $1 was a lot of money to her and pantyhose a luxury item. Things I didn’t appreciate as a child growing up in a generation of X’ers, the world of plenty. Going to visit her was like going back in time, a slower pace, more thoughtful and deliberate. Peaceful and serene. I’m probably waxing poetic about my time spent there in a way that memory allows, I don’t know how reliable are my thoughts and memories, but it makes me feel good, this version I tell myself. It feels magical and special, a time in my childhood to be cherished.

I’d spend our 24 hours on her front porch, soaking her up like a sponge. My adult self recognizing how special she was and how luck I was to know her at all, if only a little bit. She makes up such a small part of my overall history and life to this point, but she made such a huge impact. I’d tell her all these things. I’d make her fix me bacon again. I’d share my time with her with my husband and children. I’d love nothing more than to give them a chance to know her, and vice versa.

Everyone should have a Grandma Dowell in their life. I’m blessed and grateful she was a part of mine. ❤

Here are links to all the sites now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts. Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out. See you there:

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Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 12 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

Did you ever put your foot in your mouth and then instead of pulling it out, put it in deeper? Were you able to ‘fix’ it or was the situation a complete disaster?

I know everyone who actually knows me and just read my secret subject got a very good laugh. I know I chuckled. I mean, if putting your foot in your mouth was an Olympic sport, I’d be gold medaling all over the place. I’m the Simone Biles of awkward foot eating.

Where to even begin.

For those of you who don’t know me well or personally, I’ll start with an introduction of sorts. I am actually extremely shy and introverted. My spirit animal is probably a hermit crab. If I didn’t have to interact, I probably wouldn’t. I’m better over social media than in person as a general rule. I always feel awkward. I suffer from chronic verbal diarrhea. It’s horrible. I’m worse around other women and specifically mom’s. I feel more comfortable with men, but usually am still super awkward or say super inappropriate things. I really shouldn’t be allowed out of the house, which would be fine by me honestly.

I revert to self-deprecation and humor in hopes of covering up my extreme social awkwardness and foot gorging behavior, but sometimes that really just makes everything worse. My poor husband… I feel like he follows me around with a pooper scooper, just shoveling and cleaning up the social disaster that is his wife. I think if he could muzzle me at times he would, and I wouldn’t blame him one bit. I mean, I tease and say he finds these qualities of mine, endearing or even lovable, but I’m mostly trying to convince myself. I’ve always felt I was the counter balance to his more taciturn and serious demeanor. I’m the Lucy to his Ricky. The Jerry (Seinfeld) to his George. The Pooh to his Piglet. The Jerry (Lewis) to his Dean. Okay…maybe not. But you understand what I’m trying to convey. Hopefully.

As I mentioned, I feel the most awkward when talking to other women, especially other mother’s. I don’t know why, probably insecurity. I feel that if they spend too long talking to me they will see what a fraud I am and how I totally don’t have this motherhood thing down and I’m completely faking it 99% of the time. I feel as a general rule that everyone is doing the whole parenting thing way better than me, and being complimented on my parenting makes me extremely uncomfortable and I often resort to making embarrassing comments or inappropriate jokes. I can’t really think of specific examples, I feel as if in parts my entire life is a series of blooper reels on repeat and in slow motion being regurgitated for the entire world to mock. I know it seems ridiculous, I have great kids, why shouldn’t I get some of the credit, but honestly I really think they are awesome in spite of my parenting skills or lack thereof.

My biggest problem, the way I see it, is that I perpetually feel like a 14 year old girl on the inside. That mechanism people have that stops them from saying certain things in front of certain people, yeah I think mine is defective or broken. I say a little prayer or mantra if you will before going anywhere that usually goes something like this:

Please don’t let me say anything stupid today. Don’t let me forget to make eye contact and smile. Not a crazy I’m probably going to boil a pet bunny on your stove later kinda smile, just a normal, nice how are you smile. Don’t bring up sex, poop or private body parts. Instead of thinking ahead of a witty comeback, actually listen to the person speaking to you, like really listen. Do: If someone attempts a hug, just hug them back and be grateful they want to love on you. Don’t: If someone attempts a hug, launch into a 5 minute diatribe on how uncomfortable and awkward hugging makes you feel ending in a rather maniacal laugh and claiming you have to run to the loo (I never say loo except in my head because it sounds more sophisticated) because you haven’t pooped in 3 days. Just BE normal. Be kind. Be nice. Again, because it needs repeating, BE NORMAL. Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe. You got this girl!

For example, over Thanksgiving, I met my husband at work for the staff luncheon. He works in a church. At the beginning, we get in this huge line, and everyone holds hands, to pray before we feast. I’m not a big fan of touching, unless it’s my husband or kids, so I was pretty proud of the fact that I picked the end of the line and only had to hold my husband’s hand, avoiding any potential awkwardness. At some point, I realize everyone is looking at me and then pointedly looking over to the left of me. I’m confused. I offer up a blank stare, then I look to my left and realize, our line is supposed to be a circle. The other end of this line that I have to bridge to make the circle is our Senior Pastor, essentially, my husband’s boss. I thought I only groaned and said “oh no” in my head, but no… I voiced this objection with my out loud speaking voice. Everyone chuckled, out of awkwardness I’m sure, and I seriously wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. It’s not that I didn’t want to hold his hand, I’m just not a fan of hand holding in general. What if my palms were sweaty, or unusually dry and had I even washed my hands, had he? I’m pretty sure I licked my finger like 2 seconds ago, will he notice? I picked my ear earlier, I mean personally preferable over a nose pick but still…and not with the same ear picking finger. I don’t think. I’m pretty sure it was a different finger. I think my hands are sweaty now. Did I really just say no? Why do I leave the house? WHY? He probably doesn’t even remember this incident, but it’s haunted my mortifying nightmares for weeks. If I haven’t felt stupid in a day, it’s probably only because I haven’t left the house and talked to anyone.

The other thing I do when I’m nervous or talking to people I don’t know that well, or even people I do know well is that I ramble…or babble incoherently, however you want to phrase it. This is especially true with someone that I really want to like me or someone I want to impress. You should hear me in job interviews…oh the horror. I get nervous and worry about not sounding intelligent or witty so I just open my mouth and holy highway of verbal vomit someone please stop me I can’t help myself make it stop punch me in the face right now please. I probably need to be medicated. For reals. You are now probably thinking, omg she’s NOT medicated?!?!? Nope. I’m not. I’m free-ballin’ this crazy thing called life 😀

I’ve always used humor and sarcasm as a defense mechanism. It’s hard for me to relax in social situations so I’m pretty much guaranteed to use my foot as an all day sucker. I have to work really hard to appear more extraverted than I actually am. It’s just the way I’m wired. My hope is that people will in general find me endearing and humorous and spend the majority of the time laughing with me and not at me. I hope they understand my heart is usually in the right place and I never intentionally mean to offend. It’s much easier for me to share and be open in the social media arena than it is in one on one situations. I’ll post pics of my weight loss journey all over Facebook and Instagram, but when I see someone who liked or commented on my photo, my inner 14 year old girl is screaming “OMG THEY SAW ME IN A SPORTS BRA AND YOGA PANTS WITH MY BACK FAT HANGING OVER AND MY BOOBS SWINGING LOW AND SLIGHTLY TO THE LEFT!!!!” RUN! HIDE! DO NOT ENGAGE! WARNING!

I’m not sure I did a great job of answering my secret subject this week, but I’ll wrap up by saying, I’m basically a walking social disaster, but I hope you’ll love me anyway ❤